


Bad Omens 3: The aftermath

by CosyBlue



Series: Bad Omens [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-09-24 06:57:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosyBlue/pseuds/CosyBlue
Summary: Finally, Aziraphale and Crowley were able to live their lifes without fearing any conseqences. Heaven and Hell had joined forces and the small rebellious opposition was none of their business. Or at least, that was what they thought...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> When you've finished your second fanfic, thinking now you can be at peace, you've got your fluff ending and everything... but you still can't stop writing. This wonderful story got me addicted.  
Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I'm also involving some headcanons I like, because this is supposed to be fun. :D
> 
> Thx for the kudos on my previous work! I appreciate it a lot, in particular because English is not my native language.

„We have to prove it’s not working.“  
“Prove what?”  
Beelzebub was lingering on a black couch. He hadn't paid any attention to the archangel Gabriel for at least the past half hour.

“That angels and demons can’t work together. If we can prove it, we could change everything back.”

Flies extended their scope around the demon’s head and Gabriel’s upper body moved away in pure disgust. His sigh said _Is that really necessary_.

“Thiz isn’t really a good idea. But we don’t have anything better. So I guezzz… we could try it.”

From the demon’s mouth, this was almost a compliment. Well, if you took compliments from a demon as a compliment.

“But it can’t be simply anyone,” “But it has to be _them_,”  
both exclaimed simultaneously.  
Gabriel grinned.  
“Great minds think alike. Well, that’s what I would call good teamwork.”  
“That's exactly what we're trying _not_ to prove.”  
“Right. Bad teamwork. Really bad teamwork.“

So, Beelzebub and Gabriel teamed up or rather _not teamed_ up to think of a way to jeopardize Aziraphale and Crowley. They were the reason it all went wrong in the first place. If they could separate the two of them, the fragile scaffold on which the new-found trust between Heaven and Hell was constructed would collapse within the twinkling of an eye.  
Their first attempt was based on the assumption, that if the demon would do something very evil and hurt someone, the angel would turn his back in horror.  
It was a sunny day in St. James Park, when Crowley and Aziraphale were finally passing by. The demon all in black, the angel in his bright, orange Hawaiian shirt.

“I love what they did with the flowers by the bandstand.”  
“Tss, they’re ridiculous. Their colours could be much brighter. And I saw a leaf spot on one of them.”

They were passing the playground when it started. All of a sudden, a child fell from the seesaw, holding its stomach.

“Ah… it hurts.”

Other kids followed. They all held their stomachs, suddenly all staring at Crowley.

“Why do you do this to us? Please stop, Mister. It hurts.”

Beelzebub and Gabriel grinned. Now it should start.

“Wh-… for somebody’s sake… What have I done?!”

Their smiles collapsed. This wasn’t the angel reacting… it was the demon.

“No… I can’t make it stop! What is happening?”

The demon panicked, watching the suffering children around him, while Aziraphale tried to calm him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, that can’t be your work. You’d never hurt children.”  
“Please stop, Mister! Please, _stop_!”  
“FUCK! ANGEL! WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?!”

In the end, Aziraphale miracled the pain of the children away, even if he couldn’t explain to himself or anyone else, where it had come from (and where the heck were the parents, did these kids nowadays just play by themselves?). They went back to the bookshop where Aziraphale continued to comfort his completely distraught demon.  
Beelzebub and Gabriel stared in silence.  
“What kind of a pathetic demon is that.”  
“As if your angel were any better.”  
“We will see.”

Ok, so kids had been a bad idea. Maybe something else would work out better.  
Their second attempt was based on the assumption, that if the demon would actually _kill_ a living being, the angel would be outright enraged and leave him immediately. That certainly had to be a red flag.

Again, they waited for them in St. James Park. The two of them were sitting on their favourite bench, not exactly side by side, but the demon’s hand was laying on the armrest behind his angel’s back. Disgusting.  
There it was. A beautiful, pure and innocent Golden Retriever. The dog sniffed around, reaching the bench. It extensively sniffed around Crowley and then turned to run around the bench to Aziraphale. When he reached him, he fell motionless to the ground. Simply dropped down dead.  
Beelzebub and Gabriel exchanged a knowing glance. He had to assume, that the demon had killed the dog. It should be starting anytime now.

“Uh-oh… not again.”

Exactly the same thought ran through the head of the two conspiring celestial beings when they heard the angel’s voice. Cautious, Aziraphale peeked at Crowley, whether he had noticed. Fortunately, he was totally consumed by the ducks around the pond. Hastily, the angel miracled the dog back to life and went on as if nothing ever happened. Obviously, he had thought it was his fault.

“God… what a pathetic angel.”  
“… can’t argue against this.”

Ok. So none of this would work. They simply weren’t wired like normal angels and demons anymore.  
Frustrated, Beelzebub and Gabriel sat together, staring into thin air.

“You know… they’re in love, right? In a human way. Maybe we could… make them jealous?”  
“Thiz sounds like a plan.”

The third attempt was based on the assumption, that it would be the demon who would be the easier one to tempt. Once again, they were at St. James Park. Crowley was buying ice cream for the two of them.

“That’s very nice of you to invite me for ice cream.”  
They had tried to guess his type and had come to the conclusion, that he’d most certainly fall for big puppy eyes. So it was a tiny blonde with overflowing pale blue eyes who smiled at him while picking the ice cream from his hand.

“I’d think it would be safer for you to return this to me.”

The blonde smiled at him, cheekily biting into the cold, sweet vanilla ice. Some ice stayed on the lips, which a tongue licked away softly, while a hand found its way on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Why, what would you do to me? Punish me?”

Crowley couldn’t help but chuckle, nothing more than sheer amusement in his eyes behind the sunglasses, when suddenly the blonde started to shiver and turned. 

“I believe this is my delicacy you are tasting. Would you be so kind as to return it to me?”

Aziraphale’s words were so polite, but oh – his voice and his eyes said _You’d rather not mess with me_.  
The blonde fled the site and Crowley couldn’t stop laughing.

“That is absolutely not funny.”

Obviously, Crowley strongly disagreed. But the angel had his ways to turn the tables.

“Well… I don’t like it when people touch what is mine.”

Crowley’s laughter died away immediately and he stared at the angel in astonishment.

“What did you just say?”  
“Oh, nothing, my dear.”

The angel’s smile was holier than ever.

“No, I heard it. You definitely said something.”  
“I was just talking about the delicious ice cream, nothing more of interest.”

They discussed the angel’s exact words for the rest of their stroll, leaving behind two nauseated former high-ranking celestial beings.

“It’s like we’re driving them even more together,” Beelzebub rolled his eyes.

Maybe the park was a bad idea. They needed another setting. A bar or something like that. But the two of them rarely left the house in the evenings. They had to set up a trap.

“Angel! Angel, look! LOOK!”

Aziraphale turned around, wondering what could possibly excite his demon so much. Crowley had just arrived at the bookshop, waving with a flyer in his hand. The angel shot a glance at it.

QUEEN TRIBUTE EVENING

“It’s tonight. At the bar around the corner!”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile lovingly. Of course. He should have known.

“Do you want to go?”  
“If I- If I _want_ to go? That’s not really a question. Of course, we’re going!”

Crowley didn’t like to ask him to go with him anywhere. He would just pop in and announce that they were heading somewhere. From time to time, Aziraphale would tease him and pretend he’d stay at the bookshop. But he could never really go on for long, seeing the helpless look in the demon’s face while trying very hard not to just babble _please come with me, angel_. He also didn’t try this time. It was Queen they were talking about. That was where the fun stopped.

“I’d be delighted. Do you want to share a drink before we're leaving?"

When the two of them reached the bar, they already were a bit tipsy. They hadn't been that reckless for a long time, even though half a year had passed since Armageddon 2.0. A Queen Tribute Band was already playing 'Another one bites the dust'.  
Aziraphale sat down at the bar, while Crowley went nearer to the stage. Also, the forces of former heaven and hell took their place and watched them. After an emotional 'Somebody to love' and some jazzy 'Don’t stop me now', the band announced they would take a break now. Crowley wanted to return to Aziraphale, when the leader of the band, dressed up as Freddie Mercury, approached him.

"You seem so familiar to me. Have you been to one of our concerts before?"  
"At loads of them."

Well, not exactly _theirs_. He had been fantouring, but that was with the real Queen band and the original Freddie Mercury.

"See, I was convinced I saw you before. Knew that I'd never have forgotten such a handsome face."

Crowley froze on the spot, while the cheap replacement of his idol pinned a strand of his hair behind his ear where it seemed to belong.

_I can't move. Why can't I move?_

The hand wandered down from his ear to his cheek to his chin, drawing it slightly upwards, before the weirdly familiar but otherwise strange face came nearer and nearer and the singer planted a kiss on the demon's lips.  
Still, Crowley wasn't able to move. A very strong force kept him frozen to the place.

_What is happening?_

‘Freddie’ withdraw, smiling cheekily before he left. A second later, Crowley was able to snap out of it. Irritated, he continued his way back to the bar.

"Angel, there is something wrong here."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes tremendously.

"Oh, what an immensely fortunate excuse."  
"What?"  
After a short silence, it clicked. Crowley blushed.  
"Oh, you mean that! I didn't kiss them, they kissed me!"

He realised himself how stupid he sounded.  
"Something forced me in place."  
Another silence, another scolding look from his counterpart.  
"Angel, I swear - there's something wrong here. We have to leave."  
The angel sighed. If Crowley really wanted to leave a Queen Tribute Evening, there had to be something amiss indeed.  
"Alright, dear."

And they left the bar - together.  
Belzebub and Gabriel growled, watching them leave without even having a heated argument at least.

"The kids? The dog you thought I wouldn't notice? The weird blonde in the park? And now that!"  
"Ok, ok, dear. I believe you, I really do. But why on earth should they do that?"  
Of course, Aziraphale spoke from their only enemy left.  
"I think they try to drive us apart."  
"Well... then they'll never succeed."

They had returned to the bookshop to discuss the recent events. The firm, convincing sound of Aziraphale's statement made Crowley's heart skip a beat. Sighing, he leaned over to lay a soft kiss on the angel's lips, letting his hand stay on his tighs when Aziraphale interrupted him.

"One last question."  
"Anything you want to know, angel."  
"Did you ever _galoche_ with Freddie Mercury?"

Silence. Crowley could only guess what his angel meant with this French word, but he assumed it involved tongues.

"Blimey, angel! Why would you ask that? I didn’t even ever ask about Oscar Wilde..."  
"You knew that?!"

Aziraphale's face went tomato-red.

"Oh thanks, until now I didn't."

At least, now he knew that he was right for being enormously jealous at that time. But he couldn't linger on it while his angel was so cutely embarrassed.

"Guess you'll have to make up for it tonight," the demon gurred, making the angel chuckle as the lovebirds were sinking down on the couch again.

Days passed. Crowley got snogged down another two times and actively joined the #Metoo movement afterwards for feeling harassed and disrespected, while Aziraphale started to glare at anyone coming near him.

So far, the plan went on really unsuccessfully. It seemed like the former Prince of Hell and the famous archangel were at their wit's end.

"We have to dig deeper," Beelzebub mumbled, sparking an idea in Gabriel's mind.  
"You're right. We've got to dig deep. We've got to dig really deep."


	2. DON'T

Two days later, Crowley was lingering in the back of Aziraphale’s bookshop as usual, when he suddenly tensed as he heard his angel exclaim a certain name.

"Jeremiel? What a surprise! To what do I owe the honour?"

Jeremiel, whose name meant 'God's mercy', was known as the angel of visions and dreams, communicating hopeful messages from God to people who were discouraged or troubled. At least that had been his job description thousands of years ago.  
Jeremiel also served as an angel of death, who sometimes joined the archangel Michael and the guardian angels escorting people's souls from Earth to Heaven. This too, was part of a long-outdated job description.  
The archangel was a bit taller than Aziraphale, and his curls a slightly darker blond than his. Bright ochre eyes, from some angle even golden, glanced down at him and in contrast to the other archangels he didn't wear a suit, but beige linen trousers and a white vest.

"Actually, I came to see Crowley."  
"Oh."

Aziraphale was taken aback. It was not like he was particularly fond of most of the archangels, but with Jeremiel it was different. He was an all-time favourite in heaven, had been popular from the very beginning. His aura radiated so much warmth that everybody very much enjoyed his presence. There wasn't really one single person who disliked Jeremiel.  
Aziraphale had been genuinely delighted about his visit and was now a bit disappointed. What the heavens did he want from Crowley?

"Is he here? I have been told I could find him here."  
"Ah, yes, sure. Crowley?"

"I'm not here."

Aziraphale looked surprised.

"But we know that you're here, my dear."  
"I don't want to talk to him."

That was something new. To be more precise, there were a lot of new things taking place at this moment. And it didn't happen so often for beings that old, that something was new to them.

"Crowley. I just want to talk."  
"TALK?!"

Now the demon stuck his head out.

"It's been over 6.000 years and you never bothered to check on me, not even sent a single vision, you fucking angel of dreams. What do you want from me now?"

This was feeling weird. Aziraphale had never heard Crowley talking in such a way to anyone other than him.

"Things were different. It wasn't allowed back then. But it is now."

"Ah sure, it's easy now, so now you're coming. You can get your arse right back through that door."

"Ra-"  
"DON'T."

Crowley's voice was tenser than Aziraphale had ever heard before. It left them physically unable to say another word, move or even blink.

With a last glare, Crowley turned and left the room. Jeremiel knew when a match was lost. He nodded apologetically at Aziraphale, before he turned.

"Next time he'll probably be in a better mood," the angel tried to excuse his lover, which only led to a sad smirk from the archangel, who then proceeded to close the door behind him.

"Is he gone?"

Aziraphale had nearly forgotten about Crowley. He'd been lost in thoughts. With his brow furrowed, he went to the back of his shop. For a little while, he examined the demon lingering in a ridiculously space-consuming way on his couch.

"What is it, angel?"

He should have known, that the angel would confront him now. Stupid Jeremiel, why had he have to intrude him in their.... ehm, in his angel's home.

"You've known Jeremiel before ... you fell?"  
"Unfortunately."  
"You've been friends?"  
"... sort of."  
"But... he is an archangel."  
"Yes?"  
"That would mean... you've been an archangel."

Silence.

"Crowley?"  
"What?"  
"You've been an archangel, haven't you?"

"Ng, what does it matter? I became Crawly when I left Heaven and I decided to be Crowley, when-"

The demon paused abruptly.

"When?"

"When there were people I wanted to have some dignity for again."

Trying to change the mood with a joke he added:

"After all, there was a Principality I had to live up to."  
"Oh come on, you 've been an archangel!"

Crowley banged his fist on the table so harshly, that the angel jumped in fright.

"It doesn't matter. That is my final word on this."

After that, Crowley left, probably to yell at his plants. Aziraphale knew his moods - he was better to be left alone now. It did suit the angel just fine as there was a trace he wanted to research now.  
It was widely known that Jeremiel had been friends with the archangel Raphael. But Raphael had died early on. Or didn't he?  
Aziraphale, of course, knew exactly where to look. Sitting at his work desk with his glasses on, he searched for a certain image, remembering something. Raphael was mostly depicted with brown hair, but that was how humans had imagined him. There was one really really old book, which was told to be written by an angel. Unquestionably, Aziraphale owned an edition. He didn't have to turn many pages before he found what he was searching for. An old painting of the archangels. Gabriel, Michael, and the others on the left. At the right edge, Jeremiel with his dark blond or bright brown hair, howsoever you might like to see it. And next to him Raphael. With ginger hair. It seemed plausible.  
Crowley had been the archangel Raphael before he fell and Heaven had asserted he was dead.  
Far into the night, he read stories about what he thought to be the former life of his lover. Stories about Raphael, the healer. Curing blindness. Helping travelers and lost souls looking for their way back. It made Aziraphale fall in love with him all over again.

When Crowley didn't come visiting the next day, Aziraphale fetched his things and drove to Mayfair in his little oldtimer. He suspected the reluctance of the demon to come to his bookshop, as usual, was the recent incident.  
Certainly, he feared that Jeremiel could turn up again.

"Crowley?"

It was the third knock already. The angel didn't want to violate his privacy. Not everyone's doors were as open as Aziraphale's, even if his first words would be most certainly "we're closed".  
But the demon didn't let him wait much longer. With a growl, he opened the door.

"Should've known you'd turn up."  
"Of course, Crowley. I was worried."  
Crowley snorted.  
"Don't have to, angel. I'm fine."  
_Yeah, sure._

Crowley poured them two glasses of wine, seating himself on the dark leather couch he owned since the need for a seating accommodation for two had become indispensable in his apartment. He put the drinks on the glass table and Aziraphale sat down beside him.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

It was clear who he was talking about.

"As I said, he didn't bother checking on me after I fell. Why should I care after 6.000 years?"

Oh, he did care. It was absolutely obvious.

"Maybe he didn't know you fell. Maybe he thought you were dead."

Aziraphale was careful not to mention his suspicion that he'd been Raphael. Most certainly the demon would have kicked him out immediately if he tried.

"Don't be daft, angel. The archangels knew what had happened."  
_I’d like to know too… but this isn’t the time…_

Silent, Aziraphale started to play with Crowley's ginger hair in his neck. It always soothed the demon. And he softened.

"I was all alone after I fell. I could have needed a friend back then. He's over 6.000 years too late. I waited for signs from him. Since nothing came it was clear, he didn't want anything to do with me anymore after I became... after I fell."

The angel felt the pain and continued to caress him. 

"That must have been awful, my dear."

Uncomfortable, Crowley shifted his weight. But in a way the caressing wouldn't be interrupted.

"It's ok, I got by. I don't need him. I've got you, angel."

Crowley turned to kiss him. After a while, the angel reluctantly let go.

"You know, in Heaven they were quite clear about their rules concerning demons. As you remember, I too, took my time and had my objections. It sat deep. But once we open our eyes, we can see the wonderful person behind the facade. And that it doesn’t matter at all."

He smiled lovingly.

"To me it appeared like Jeremiel wanted to apologise. He has been important to you once. Times have changed. Maybe you want to just give him the chance to explain himself. You don't have to talk to him ever again afterwards. Just hear him out. It might be good for you too.”

Crowley shook his head.

"You really are the most angelic angel I've ever met."  
"What should angels possibly be but angelic?"  
"You know the others aren't. Not a single one of them is as caring, loving and good-hearted as you."

And before the angel could get over his head, he added:

"You're also enough of a bastard to kick some asses out of heaven so... it possibly explains how I could fall in love with you so deeply."

No insults were taken. Both grinned and while Crowley's head lingered on the armrest, Aziraphale bowed down to kiss him again.

"So... you're going to talk to him?"  
"Alright, yes. I'll talk to him, angel."

When Aziraphale and Crowley reached the bookshop, Jeremiel was already sitting on the stairs. He had been waiting for them, obviously. His eyes shimmered golden in the sunlight.

Crowley sighed.

"If I regret this, you're going to have to make up for it."  
"Anytime," Aziraphale's singing voice exclaimed, planting another kiss on his cheek, before he waited at the car, to give them some space.

After a few sentences, Crowley waved him goodbye as they headed to a nearby bar. As he watched them leave, Aziraphale felt a sting rushing through his body. Since the borders of Heaven and Hell had been broken down, it had been foreseeable that there would be other celestial beings turning up in their life. But Aziraphale had been gotten so used to be his only angel. He deeply hoped he won't come to regret this himself.


	3. You really believe that?

Soon after, Jeremiel started to hang out with them quite often. Aziraphale got a bit annoyed. It also didn't help that the archangel seemed to have forgotten every encounter they’ve ever had. Aziraphale didn't know why everyone said he was so thoughtful. To give his two pennies, the tall man was a bit of a jerk sometimes. Also, he had no interest to join Aziraphale on things Crowley simply couldn’t do, like church gospel concerts.

In the beginning, he'd also hoped he would learn something about Crowley’s past, but the two of them never even hinted anything, let alone talk about anything from their time as archangels. Maybe they had some kind of agreement on that.

In fact, Jeremiel was clearly drawn to Crowley, merely accepting that Aziraphale was always with them. To avoid misunderstandings - he wasn't nasty or unpleasant towards him. Crowley wouldn't have stood for that. But Aziraphale noticed how the archangel clearly preferred the presence of the demon.

Crowley more than once jokingly asked if he was jealous, which the angel declined. And it was the truth. He wasn't jealous (well, ok, maybe a bit. Maybe sometimes he wanted to flip him aside and throw his hands all over his demon.) But there was something else. Something was odd. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. However, Crowley seemed blissfully unaware of anything even remotely out of the ordinary and Aziraphale wanted it to stay that way.

Although there was one thing, that really made it up for him. Crowley didn't call Jeremiel _‘angel’_. Never. Not once, not even by accident. _Angel_ was reserved for Aziraphale. (This led to Aziraphale feeling the desire to try this human pet name thing, not realising 'my dear' already was. Crowley spilled several drinks over 'babe', 'boo bear' and 'hottie'. Holy shit, where was that coming from?)

On this particular day, Jeremiel had joined them in the bookshop without prior notice, as usual, and the two of them lingered on the couch in the back room, while Aziraphale was busy with his books.

"Hold on, you didn't really let them kill each other with the paint guns?"  
"Noooo, of course not. Wouldn't have been any fun. Also, Aziraphale would have probably discorporated me for it."

He didn't tell how the story had went on - with the angel accusing him of being nice and Crowley short-circuiting and pinning him against the wall. The afternoon had passed and Aziraphale fancied some dinner.

"Of course, angel. Where do you want to go?"  
"I had a craving for sushi the last few days."

Jeremiel grimaced, as Aziraphale knew he would. But for heaven's sake, he didn't have to join them if he had a problem with it. The archangel still hadn't grown accustomed to eating and so it would be Aziraphale savouring his dishes in delight, Crowley picking one or two things but rather reducing the visit to watching his angel eat and Jeremiel staring at them, apparently trying to hold his composure.  
Aziraphale couldn't explain to himself why Jeremiel joined their dinners and neither how Crowley could possibly oversee the little smirks and grimaces.

They had been a bit more than half an hour at the table in Aziraphale’s favourite sushi restaurant when the waitress approached them. Apparently, the _itamae_, the chef cook, had designed a new sushi dish and invited Aziraphale to taste it. He invited him to the kitchen since it would be wasted on the other two. Smiling, Crowley watched his excited little cinnamon roll in his bright orange Hawaiian shirt following the cook. 

Seconds after he left, Jeremiel cleared his throat.  
"I want you to come visit me tomorrow. At my home."  
"Thanks, we-"  
"No. You."  
Silence.  
"I know he's your friend."  
"He's not just my friend. He's my best friend, my angel, my love of my life-"  
"Alright, I got it. But... I want to talk to you alone. I have something I want to tell you."  
Silence. Reluctance. But finally, he gave in.

"Ok. I'm coming."  
And after a doubtful look from the archangel, he added: "Alone."

Jeremiel pulled a business card with his address from his trousers. With a tight feeling in his guts, Crowley took it.

"I'm relying on you."  
"Oh, come on. Don't make such a fuss. I'll be there."

The next day, Crowley joined Aziraphale visiting a popular new exhibition on the great masters of painting in one of the big art galleries, much to the angel's surprise.

"I thought you'd said you didn't like the classics?"  
"It's not that I don't like them, I just don't really care for them."  
"Is something wrong?"  
"Gosh, angel! Can't I just want to spend my time with you without having you interrogate me first?"  
"Well, of course. I was just wondering."

Aziraphale stayed skeptical, but soon forgot about it when he indulged in the paintings. Crowley was suspiciously silent the whole morning and also when they went for lunch. What had happened to him? He wouldn't have secrets from him, wouldn't he?

When they reached the bookshop, Crowley still was in a funny mood.

"Are you sure everything's alright?"  
"What? Yeah, sure."

They went inside and Crowley let himself fall on the couch as usual. Aziraphale sighed.

"Crowley, I'm not an idiot. There is something bothering you. And I want you to talk to me about it."

Crowley rolled his eyes like a teenager and jumped up, restless. The angel and all his talking. It was nothing wrong. He didn't need his permission to visit Jeremiel. So why did it feel so wrong? Why he did feel like he was betraying him?

"It's nothing, I just... had a weird night. Why didn't you join me anyway? I missed you."

Aziraphale didn't sleep every night, so it wasn't unusual for Crowley to be alone. However, the angel's face softened and he reached out for the demon's hands.

"I didn't realise you had such a restless night. If you want, I'll come over tonight."

Crowley smiled as well.

"That would make me very happy."

As often, his voice croaked while he replied in sincere emotion. They hugged and Aziraphale was almost convinced everything was back to normal.

"Then - ahm... I'll be away for a bit now."  
"What you're doing?"  
"Meeting with Jeremiel."  
"Oh... ok."

There was a stinging feeling in his gut, although it had been very clear to the angel that they'd eventually stop to always be a trio and the archangel and former-archangel-now-demon would start to meet up alone. It was... just natural. Nevertheless, he experienced a funny feeling. Something was odd.

"Is really everything alright?"  
"Gosh, angel, could you please drop it? Everything's fine. See you tonight?"

Aziraphale smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Of course, my dear. See you tonight. Love you."  
"Love you too, angel."

After a goodbye's kiss, Crowley headed for the door, not leaving without another:

"See you then!"

And then he was away. Aziraphale needed some seconds before he pulled himself together.  
_It's alright, stop second-guessing everything._  
His thoughts went back to his books for a start.  
"I think I'm in the mood for some re-arranging."

Crowley could have slammed his head against the steering wheel. Why was he such a jerk? Why didn’t he tell him where he was going, explained it. Whatever. At least he had told him whom he was meeting. No need for a guilty conscience. He didn't lie. He would never lie to him, he'd sworn that to himself. He tried his best to show that he was trustworthy despite being a demon.  
With screeching tyres, he reached his destination. It had been just a few minutes, he was still in central London, near Tower Bridge. Decima street 6. Jeremiel lived in a skyscraper, much like Crowley. The demon ringed the bell. The door clicked and Crowley entered. The lift brought him to the 6th floor. Strange. The second 6.  
When he left the lift, he already saw which door had been slightly opened. Again, door number 6. The demon knocked on the half-opened wooden door and entered the gloomy room. _I would have expected something brighter..._

"Jeremiel?" 

Why was it so dark in here? Why were the curtains drawn? A strange feeling swashed over him. _Something's wrong here..._  
He went forward and draw the curtain's up. Just a millisecond before he suffered a heavy blow on the head, he saw the reflection on the window.

"AAAARGH!"

Crowley fell to his knees, holding his head. It happened too fast. When he blinked the next time, a circle of amulets was already put all around him. _I can't move!_  
His vision started to flicker. 

"The funny thing is... you really thought Jeremiel came back for you."

The last thing he saw before he lost his consciousness was Hastur morphing back to Jeremiel's appearance.  
_Aziraphale..._

Very self-satisfied, Hastur picked up the phone.  
"Yes, it's me. Of course I sound like a fucking angel, you made me pretend to be one. However ... phase 1 is completed."  
Swearing, he hang up.  
"Stupid fucking fly... should try to bear one hour with these idiots before calling me off... stupid fucking angels..."

Only a few miles away, an angel hummed a happy melody, rearranging his books and not having the slightest idea that his evening would turn out to be quite the opposite of what he’d originally planned.


	4. Realisation

Slowly, Aziraphale became nervous.  
Crowley hadn't returned from his meeting with Jeremiel. The angel had waited in his bookshop quite a long time before he drove to Crowley's flat. The demon wasn't there. He didn't react to calls. Hadn't left a message. 

They weren't humans and over 6.000 years old, so they were pretty chill about most things and didn't like boundaries. But this was... they had agreed to spend the night together. Crowley had explicitly asked for it. Would he really simply forget that?

As the hours passed, worry started to turn into jealousy. Suppressed thoughts about what relationship they had had before Crowley fell began to seep into Aziraphale's consciousness. The angel had really tried to pull himself together, discarding insidious thoughts at first sight, because his beloved was so happy to have re-found his friend after all. The demon craved for love and acceptance so desperately, it felt like taking care of a very fragile plant, which also happened to be one of those flowers that need a lot of special treatment to bloom. But now Aziraphale sat alone in an empty flat and couldn't help but wonder if it had been a mistake. If he had been too trusting, too naive, too kind-hearted.  
Again, he tried to call the lost demon. No reaction. There could be plenty of innocent explanations. They forgot the time, the phone was dead. But there were also plenty of dangerous explanations, from accidents to kidnapping to... no, he didn't even want to think about it.  
Half the night had already passed and Aziraphale decided to take refuge in sleep.

When the next day there still was no sign of the demon, Aziraphale drove back to his bookshop. Maybe he would be there? But no. Nothing. No demon or any other living being except himself. His heart ached deeply.  
"Crowley, where are you?"

There were lighter moments and heavier moments. In the heavy moments, Crowley could barely stay conscious. In the light one's, he was busy scolding himself. How could he have been so stupid? From what he could imagine, he had put his angel in great danger now. They'd certainly come for him. And he wouldn't be able to protect him, because he had hunted after a long lost friendship when all he needed, all he really needed, was Aziraphale. There had been thousands of moments where he should have become suspicious, when something inside him had asked questions - but he had ushered them away, didn't want to see it. His heart always found an excuse when his head began to doubt the sudden appearance of the archangel. For fuck's sake, he had even known someone was trying to trick them for some time now. Why hadn't he make the connection, stupid idiot demon?  
It was a miracle – a miracle in the true sense of the word - that his angel even put up with him. And he had really believed there would be a second being seeing something good in him. Ridicolous.  
_Aziraphale..._  
Sometimes he also tried to speak, pleading, nearly praying, that nothing would happen to his angel. They could do to him whatever they wanted... but no harm should come to Aziraphale. He didn't deserve that.  
Crowley tried to move again, but the amulets did their work, their force pushed him back to the ground. Again, he lost consciousness.

Aziraphale was at his wit's end. No matter how much he concentrated on the demon, he couldn't sense him. That meant he was either very far away or at a place where something blocked his signal. The only place he could think of was their new embassy on Earth and so he took place in his little oldtimer again, today coloured in a screaming red, and drove off.  
Fortunately, since he didn't realise he needed fuel for it, the car went on and on without the need for any petrol stops.

Strangely enough, the appearance of the building had changed. To meet in the middle, Heaven and Hell had agreed to let go of the skyscraper with one way up and one way down. Instead, they had used an old Victorian facade with a royal touch, which looked quite nice from the outside and was bigger on the inside. However, the appearance of the building had changed back. It was a skyscraper again. Humans didn't notice this, of course. There was a perception filter around it and everything coming out or in that could strike them as weird. But an angel would certainly notice.

When Aziraphale reached the embassy, there was already a weird scene going on. Thousands of people - or rather beings - fled the place. Things were tossed after them, to make them run faster, accompanied by angry screaming. Aziraphale managed to stop one of the refugees.

"What for anybody’s sake is happening here?"

The demon hissed, glaring from wrathful eyes.

"You should know, angel. You're one of them after all. They're expelling us again."  
"No?!"

Frantically, Aziraphale made his way against the current flood of celestial beings, demons and angels likewise. Surely there must be some kind of misunderstanding. His belief faded when he stepped into the building and the first thing he saw was a fine grey suit, covering a muscular body. The relegated archangel.

"What is happening here?"  
"Order is restored."

Gabriel looked very pleased with himself. It was his moment of triumph. He didn't even bother with this fucking traitorous principality. Much more fun to see him suffer than to destroy him. At least for now.

"You can't do that!"  
"Why should we allow them to be here? Tell me one reason. Pick any demon here and tell me why they have deserved to stay?"

Aziraphale still didn't know any other demon than his best friend and lover. He wasn't really a social type of person. Obviously, he had missed a few chances to join the social gatherings at the embassy, because a certain demon always made other plans with him, including better food.

"Crowley-"  
"Crowley isn't here. Crowley left. Actually, he was the very first who took his boots and made a run for it."

Aching pain was visible on Aziraphale's face.

"He didn't."  
"Oh. Can you tell me where he is then?"

Silence. 

"Thought so. Now go fly an egg before you have to run alongside your beloved demons."

Despite the wrongly-used phrase, Aziraphale understood quite well. He started to turn when from the corner of his eye, he saw someone stepping inside the lift. The doors were closing, but the being looked like Jeremiel. The number on the monitor above the lift changed to one and stopped there. Trying to stay calm, Aziraphale fled from the building. He reached the corner and as soon as he was out of sight, he instantly miracled himself to the first floor of the embassy. He had no time to lose. Although, there was a second he took to hold his breath and send a hurried prayer to… well to anyone above who might care enough to bother. It was always a risk to shatter yourself into atoms and recreate at another place. He hoped he would arrive in one piece. 

After appearing in front of the lift on the first floor, to his delight without a scratch, Aziraphale turned around frantically. Everything was back to its old state. White, sterile, cold floors. And long floors, fortunately. Aziraphale could clearly detect Jeremiel's curls, in this light rather bright brown, from afar. Once again, he started to run.

"Jeremiel!"

Startled, the archangel turned.  
As Aziraphale closed the distance, he recognised that Jeremiel looked different. He was wearing a cream coloured suit and a white shirt, unbottened at the top.

"Oh, Principality Aziraphale. I didn't know you were back."

_Princi... what is going on here?_

"Jeremiel, where is Crowley?"  
"Crowley? Why the heaven should I know that?"

Something in Aziraphale's subconscious started to reach out for him. Something that had festered in him for a long time, something he'd known, but couldn't quite grasp. It was stretching its hands out, fighting for him to finally understand. 

"But... he said he was meeting you."  
"Me? Why should he meet me?"

Jeremiel glanced at him in a funny way, golden eyes that called out in confusion and uncertainty.

"I haven't talked to him since he fell."

The realisation kicked in like a big ocean wave.

"Aziraphale? Is everything alright?"  
"Excuse me."

Without hesitating a second, Aziraphale made a run for it. Of course. It had all been a trap. How could he have been so oblivious? The signs had been clearly there. That's why he hadn't remembered any of their previous encounters, that's why he had been so ridiculously drawn to Crowley. That's why he'd joined them on dinners he absolutely had disliked.  
_I'm such an idiot. I actively encouraged Crowley to rebuild that friendship and all it brought to him was danger and pain._  
The demon had been so happy to relive these old strings, that Aziraphale simply might not have wanted to see it.  
_I'll find you and I'll fix this, Crowley. I promise._

"Fellow angels! You have endured the presence of the fallen long enough. Order is restored again. We'll take our place on the field again, with our heads held high. Everything is going back to how it was before this incident happened."

Gabriel stood on a platform in the great hall of heaven. About twenty angels differing in ranking and constitution flanked him. They had followed him into the underground (well, not the real underground, the metaphorical one) and were looking forward to their rewards.  
The other angels looked around, unsure what to do. Some already fled, some had stayed. Also, their newly-elected leader seemed reluctant. Where were Crowley and Aziraphale? It seemed without someone to believe in, the whole idea of working together fell apart like a card house in front of them.

"Prepare again for the war of wars, our opportunity to once and for all, settle things and claim what's ours. The world is our place, now and forever. For eternity."

Reluctantly, some angels started to applaud and under Gabriel's severe look, the rest of them joined them. Finally, Armageddon would start again.

With not so much screeching than more politely brushing tyres, the oldtimer came to a halt in front of the skyscraper in which Crowley lived. To be precise, 'in front of the skyscraper' meant half on the pavement, half on the street facing the front door. Never had he been so fast inside the building, upwards the stairs (no time to wait for the lift) and in his flat.  
The flat still looked like he had left it in the morning. Very neat, very tidy - very lonely.  
Maybe he could find anything that could give him a hint to the demon's whereabouts. Where he and 'Jeremiel' did meet up, what they were about to do. The angel felt a bit guilty for intruding Crowley's privacy so much, but desperate times called for desperate measures.  
As he opened every drawer he could find, he came across some things that he would have smiled about and lingered on if he had the time or nerves for it at the moment.  
Obviously, Crowley kept souvenirs from experiences he liked. A lot of them. If Aziraphale wouldn't be occupied by more important things like the imminent danger his lover might be in, he would have run his fingers through them. Gently, he would have picked up the ticket from the premiere of 'Hamlet' in the Globe Theatre, he would have browsed the pages of the children's book Crowley had used to read for Warlock, would have discovered in delight, that Crowley had kept the tiny snake figure he once bought for him at a flea market despite pretending to dislike it. He would have been incredibly touched by seeing the invoice of their dinner at the Ritz, the night after Armagedidn't. But everything had its time and it wasn't the time for this.

Eventually, he found something in one of the drawers of the desk. A business card. It didn't look very professional. More like something a minimalistic pupil would make. Not to mention it was in Comic Sans.

Jeremiel Remiel  
Counsellor

6 Decima Street  
Southwark, London

Well, Mr. Aziraphale Zira Fell was definitely in no position to judge him for his choice of human name. Whether or not Crowley was there - Jeremiel Remiel Fake-Archangel would be his next stop.


	5. Don't mess with me

There was a riot in former Hell. Bitter disappointment lashed out. And Beelzebub was sure as hell not going to calm them.  
  
"You silly fools really believed the angels would share all the pleasures with you? They despise us! They always have and they always will. Even the traitor Crowley has been let down by them. But enough is enough. We're going to settle things once and for all. We're gonna give them hell on earth."  
  
It took only little persuasion, much less than with the angels, to get the demons to applaud furiously. Perhaps because they were demons, perhaps because their biggest fear had come true - being cast out a second time. They had taken a risk, they had opened up. And now the pain, disappointment and shame mixed a dangerous cocktail of vengeance. They would let them suffer for this. The mills of God might grind slowly - the mills of Armageddon would grind fast.  
  
  
Aziraphale had no trouble finding the skyscraper located at 6 Decima Street. He thought about miracling the door open but feared to be detected. Fortunately, at this moment an older lady with a little dachshund opened the door, which Aziraphale held open for her in the most courteous manner. Flattered, the old lady thanked him and the angel needed all of his strength to stay polite and patient. He didn't know which door it would be, so he ran through the floors, checking all of them. Totally out of breath he eventually reached the 6th floor.  
  
_61 Miller, 62 Henderson, 63 Parker, 6... only 6?_  
  
So there he stood, at the door which featured only one 6 and no name.  
Something told him to look the other way, to go away, which probably meant there was a perception filter for humans installed. His instincts told him it was exactly where he needed to go. Slowly and as silent as possible, Aziraphale tried to open the door. It wasn't locked. Obviously, they really relied on their perception filter. Aziraphale opened the door to get into the gloomy flat. At first, he couldn't see anything. He made a few steps forward and the living room fell into his sight. On the floor, there was a portable jail installed, a ring of amulets known by only a few souls in Heaven. Inside of it, a demon was captured.  
  
"Crowley!"  
  
He couldn't stop himself from calling out. The head of the demon rose slightly at his call and Aziraphale started to run towards him when 'Jeremiel' blocked him.  
  
"I'd be a bit more careful. I'm an archangel."  
"You're not."  
  
Aziraphale's voice was fierce and strong. 'Jeremiel' realised the angel knew. There was no doubting it. No need to keep up appearances. He grinned and snipped - within seconds the bright brown or rather dark blond curls turned to a wild blond mess and a frog, the ochre, golden-shimmering eyes changed into a dark brown, the linen trousers and the white vest made room for a brown coat. Sighing, Hastur stretched his neck and back.

Meanwhile, Crowley had regained his consciousness, finally awake enough to groan.  
  
"This can't be real."  
"Believe me I would have rather died than pretend day for day that I liked to spend time with you and your ridicolous pet angel. Couldn't believe you really are that stupid. To think an archangel would come looking for you. Pathetic."  
  
Aziraphale could plainly see the hurt in the demon's face. That was enough. Fine blue light started to emit from him - he was glowing.  
  
"I'd advise you to step aside."  
"I wouldn't be so reckless if I were you."  
  
Hastur snipped and a tiny flame of hellfire appeared in his hand.  
  
"Nooooo,"  
Crowley growled, near to becoming unconscious again.  
  
But Aziraphale was determined. The angel might be the cautious one, might reconsider most of his decisions at least three times - but when he was done, when his mind was set, he became a pure force of willpower.  
  
"Do you really think you can stop me? Are you that weary of life that you think I wouldn't crush you in a heartbeat? I don't fear your ridicolous flame. If I were you, I would think twice before you place yourself between him and me. Make the wiser choice and _fucking_ step aside."  
  
Of course, hellfire could still hurt Aziraphale. A flame that tiny wouldn't kill him instantly. Nonetheless, it would leave severe damage on his body, probably enough to lead to serious long-term effects. But Hastur didn't know. Also, he'd heard the urban legends about this particular angel. The blue light around Aziraphale grew stronger and stronger. He simply wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't allow him to hurt Crowley any more than he already had. Slowly, Hastur backed away and the flame collapsed as Aziraphale passed him. He kicked away the amulets on his way and the spell was broken. Still a bit dizzy Crowley looked up. With a last glare at the frozen Hastur, Aziraphale touched Crowley's shoulder and with a blink, miracled them away.  
  
  
Aziraphale's knees were weak. A lot of miracling today, the consequences started to show. But he couldn't rest, not yet. Crowley had fallen unconscious again and they still weren't safe. They had reappeared in front of the door, inches from his vintage car, which displayed a baby blue at the moment. Aziraphale opened the car door and gently laid his demon down on the back seat. A nervous glance at the front door, but Hastur didn't come after them. The angel had put on quite an intimidating act. Reminded him of his equally convincing performance in Hell. Perhaps he should give acting another try.  
  
A short ride later they reached the bookshop and to Aziraphale's luck, Crowley had woken up till then. He still needed support, but at least he didn't have to carry him across the threshold. Not that it wouldn't be romantic, but it was more of a delight when both parties were awake.  
  
Crowley was lying on the couch with Aziraphale hovering over him when there was a knock. Annoyed, the angel went to the door.  
  
"What is it? Oh..."  
  
Loads of angels and demons were standing in front of his shop, all looking straight at him.  
  
"You have to help us! They've overthrown the embassy and expelled the demons!"  
  
There was one word lingering over the whole bunch of people, jumping into Aziraphale's mildly irritated face: hope.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I am, inconveniently, occupied elsewhere at the moment!"  
  
He slammed the door and hurried back to Crowley. What did he care about the rest of the world? _His world_ was lying on the couch, still groaning from pain. He kneeled beside him and gently brushed the hair from his face. The demon smiled.  
  
"I keep getting rescued by you... wasn't it the other way round?"  
"I'll come up with ways for you to make up for it."  
  
Crowley laughed.  
  
"Oh, I bet you do."  
  
After a moment, he cleared his throat again.  
  
"Aziraphale, I'm sincere. I brought myself in a dumb situation and put us both in danger."  
"It wasn't your fault, dear."  
"It was."  
"Well, I would definitely tell you, if you'd be to blame. Believe me, you are not. You are not to blame for trusting. Never."  
"But - "  
"Oh shush now, darling."  
  
Aziraphale closed his lips with a passionate kiss, since nothing else seemed to work.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt... but what the heck is going on?"  
  
Two supernatural entities turned their startled heads. Anathema was standing in the bookshop.  
  
"How did you come in?"  
"You didn't lock the door."  
"Oh. And the angels and demons?"  
"Are waiting for you to come out."  
"Oh."  
  
Still a bit weak Crowley stood up, leaning on the backrest though.  
  
"Who is bothering you, angel?"  
"As it seems... opposition?"


	6. Defenders of peace

They had gone to the front of the bookshop while discussing the latest events.  
Anathema had had an appointment in London when she had felt the strangest lashes of energy emerging and decided to come to the angel's bookshop for clarification. The horde of celestial beings had already gathered there when she had arrived, which proved her gut feeling had been absolutely right. Aziraphale had filled them in on what he knew, and the three of them were a least a bit wiser now, but nonetheless clueless.  
  
Crowley peered out of the window. The angels and demons were still there, waiting patiently. One particular angel, however, wasn't blessed with such calmness. Aziraphale paced around like a caged animal, to the annoyance of the other two. Since when was it his turn to pace around anyway?  
  
"What do they want from us?"  
"Well... I guess, that you stop Armageddon again."  
"Why us?"  
"You also did it the last two times."  
  
Aziraphale sighed.  
  
"We should probably go outside and talk to them."  
"And what are we supposed to tell them, angel? Pretend that we have a plan for getting rid of those bastards, like the last two times when we _really had a plan_?"  
"Well... I guess that's our thing then. Figuring everything out while on the run."

They shared a sweet smile full of memories. Anathema cleared her throat.  
  
"Not meaning to interrupt again, but I guess you should hurry on. The sky's getting a funny colour."  
  
As they peered outside, it turned out that the witch's statement was true. A burning red covered the skyline of London.  
  
"Time to get a wiggle-on."  
"I literally just jumped from the brink of death and still wish to get back there only to undo hearing you say 'get a wiggle-on' _again_."  
  
Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. Already dramatic bitch again, his beloved couldn't be in a state that bad anymore. But he had other, more pressing problems he had to turn to.

"I'll have to dress up now."  
"What, wait. Why?"  
"Serious business demands serious garment."  
  
Crowley had learnt a long time ago not to question Aziraphale's clothing decisions. Might just pick some sunglasses in the meantime.  
  
When they finally stepped out of the security of the bookshop and into the limelight that the entrance had become, the street erupted in cheers. One couldn't know who was more afraid of the expectations - the angel or the demon.  
Apparently, it had to be Crowley because Aziraphale stood his ground and straightened his bow tie like he knew what he was doing.  
  
"You really just dressed up for this, right? Just to stand here and fiddle with your bow tie."  
"Despite everything, I _still_ have standards, Crowley."  
"You mean after you dropped all of them when you started dating a demon."  
"Dear, that's not funny! How often do I have to tell you this?"  
  
Their conversation wasn't louder than a whisper. Nonetheless, Anathema cleared her throat - again. How could two people forget the rest of the world so often in such improper moments. Now, no need to hurry, go on lovebirds - the sky's just getting a bloody red colour.  
  
Crowley and Aziraphale straightened up, like _Right, let's get to business_.  
The celestial beings in front of their door still looked at them like they were sure this chaotic duo would save the world - again.  
  
"Well then... let's go to the embassy and show them what we think about their great plan," Crowley offered when the silence wasn't bearable anymore.  
The crowd cheered and started to move. _Could have been worse_, the demon thought to himself, still a little unsteady on his feet.  
  
"Not that I want to criticise your efforts... but what exactly are your plans for when we arrive at the embassy?"  
  
Aziraphale's voice oozed from annoyed mockery and Crowley smiled, his devilish smile the angel had feared to never see again just some hours ago.  
  
"As you said, angel. We'll figure it out while on the run."

  


As they went to the street, Crowley naturally took the direction to his Bentley - suddenly remembering that it wasn't there.  
  
"Oh shit."  
"Don't worry, my love. I'll drive. You must still be exhausted anyway."  
  
Agonized, Crowley threw back his head.  
  
"Oh no, angel, we'll arrive hours too late to the party if you drive. Your driving is so enormously slow."  
"Well, I reached quite a pace when I hurried through the city to rescue you and I didn't hear you complain when you were lying, knocked out, on the back seat."  
  
It had meant to be a joke, but it was obviously very much too soon for that. Far too soon.  
Crowley's face was the perfect depiction of humiliating pain.  
  
"Oh my dear, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. Please stop looking like that, I can't bear it."  
  
The two of them were already in their own exclusive world again, so Anathema cleared her throat for what felt like the 100th time.  
  
"Guys... I'm still here. I can drive you."

  


Abruptly, Anathema's car came to a halt in front of the skyscraper which once again contained the head office of Heaven. In contrast to the previous years, centuries or even millennia, it was only Heaven now. The underground of Hell had been removed to another place.  
  
"I'm afraid you won't be able to accompany us inside, my dear," Aziraphale mused in Anathema's direction.  
"That's ok, I'm not meant to be there. I'll wait for you in the car."  
  
The two celestial beings walked out and joined the mass of angels and demons already gathering in front of the entrance, ready to do what had to be done.  
  
"Never thought I'd command a real army someday."  
  
"This isn't an _army_, Crowley. This is... they are defenders of peace."  
  
The demon raised an eyebrow and grinned.  
  
"Whatever you wish to call it."  
  
Some things would never change and that was good as it was. With a last nod to one another and hands firmly entwined, they went inside to face their endgame enemy. At least they weren't alone. Actually, there had never been so many beings on their side as there were now.

  


Gabriel had been expecting them. Naturally, the mass moving from celestial beings to a certain bookshop and backward hadn't be missed by him. Also, a nervous prince of flies had called him to admit that their _fully trustworthy and competent_ agent had lost Crowley to the renegade angel, made him put 2 and 2 together. He knew they would come and he was prepared. The army of angels stood behind him, prepared to move at his word. It was less than a surprise, when he saw Aziraphale and Crowley marching on, their own army - pardon, defenders of peace - behind them.  
  
"So, you want to fight us? Didn't think you would have the guts."  
  
Crowley muttered incomprehensible curse words, but Aziraphale shushed him.  
  
"We don't want to fight. We just want to talk."  
  
Gabriel laughed. Same old, same old.  
  
"There will be war and there is nothing you can do about it, sunshine."  
  
Aziraphale looked behind, to the angels and demons defending peace. All he saw was fear. (Except for Crowley who looked like he might tear Gabriel's head from his body at any given moment.)  
He looked in front of him to the angels fighting for war, holding their weapons. There too, what he saw was fear. _This is pointless._  
He had to stop it, he realised. He would stop it by using his own weapons.  
  
With fierce determination in his eyes, he stepped forward.  
  
"What are you doing?!" Crowley hissed. But Aziraphale moved another step forward.  
  
"Aziraphale, no!" Crowley tried to catch him, to stop him from whatever he planned to do, but the angel had created a force field to protect him from undemanded rescues.  
  
_I'm sorry, my love, I have to do this._  
  
Another step and he was standing right in front of an utterly irritated Gabriel.  
  
"What... what do you think you're doing?!"  
  
But it was too late. Aziraphale had already thrown his hands around him, clutching him in an awkward hug. The air felt visibly tense. Everyone was holding their breath.  
  
Seconds passed and the first angels dropped their weapons. Others followed. Hope started to spread across the faces of the defenders of peace as well as the army of angels. Gabriel could see it while beeing helplessly frozen to the spot by Aziraphale's endlessly loving hug. To put a cherry to the cake, the renegade angel cleared his throat and said certain three words.  
  
"I forgive you."  
  
That was it, that was enough. Gabriel heard another round of weapons drop aimlessly to the floor and hate boiled over him. How could that pathetic principality thwart his plans _again_, in such a ridiculous manner? This fight might be lost, but he wouldn't go without a triumph.  
  
"I don't want your forgiveness, you wanna-be angel," he hissed and before anyone could react, he had pulled a knife from his trousers and pushed it violently into Aziraphale's side.  
  
The angel cried out in pain and Gabriel vanished into thin air, as did a handful of other angels.  



	7. Our own side

"NO!"  
  
Crowley was at his side not a second later. His angel had been already brought to his knees.  
  
"Crowley... it's burning. It burns so much."  
  
With shaking hands, Crowley pulled out the knife. He felt it immediately.  
  
"Noooo! No, no, no, no!"  
  
His voice was trembling. Tears started to form behind his sunglasses. He had felt it as soon as he had touched the knife. The blade had been forged in hellfire.  
  
"That bastard!"  
  
Apparently, Gabriel had never fully believed they've become invincible. Words couldn't describe the hatred he experienced towards him. Only the pained sound Aziraphale gasped out pulled him back to reality again.  
  
"It's ok angel, everything will be fine. Just stay with me."  
  
He tried to heal the wound. Failed. Aziraphale's eyes started to close. His body started to get heavy and Crowley laid him down, head into his lap.  
  
"No, no, angel, don't do this to me. Stay with me! STAY WITH ME!"  
  
His voice was already filled with the sorrow the tears in his eyes would have displayed. This couldn't be happening.  
  
"Stupid angel, why did you have to do this?" he muttered under his breath. Again, he tried to heal him.  
  
"Aziraphale. Angel. Please."  
  
People were approaching them. Without looking up, Crowley hissed at them, daring them to take one step closer to his angel and experience his wrath.  
They stopped, at first, though reluctantly. Aziraphale gasped out another painful groan, which distracted Crowley completely.  
  
"I know it hurts. I... I'm so sorry. So so sorry."  
  
Aziraphale started to close his eyes again, which led Crowley to shake him furiously.  
  
"Don't, angel, DON'T. Can you hear me? I love you, Aziraphale. Please stay with me!"  
  
He hadn't realised that the people - or rather beings - did come nearer in the meantime, which were now kneeling left from him at Aziraphale's side. At any other time, he probably might have recognised them. It was the demon and the angel, which were the first to embrace each other that day on the airbase. Which had been in love with each other, long before they were allowed to. (Not as long as Aziraphale and Crowley, of course. Not that it was a competition. But, you know, should be stated.)  
Crowley lacked the force to push them away again. Helplessly he watched them, joining their hands and put them over Aziraphale's wound. Their healing powers - one angelic, one demonic - entwined, producing a comforting warmth. It touched the angel's wound and to Crowley's utter surprise - it started healing. Not much, just a bit. But enough to let the anguished expression leave Aziraphale's face.  
  
"We'll take him to the hospital floor if that's ok for you."  
  
Really looking up for the first time since Gabriel had left, Crowley realised that the building had changed back to the Victorian embassy.  
  
"I'm coming with you."  
  
They nodded, had been expecting that. No force imaginable could part him from his angel.

Aziraphale's head still felt dizzy when he slowly woke up in a heavenly comfy bed in an incredibly warm room. He blinked two times to get free sight and recognised Crowley in a chair next to his bed. His arms were crossed, eyes hid behind his sunglasses. You couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not. The angel reached forward to pull them off his lovely eyes when pain let him overthink this decision.  
  
"Argh."  
"I would stop moving so much, angel. If you want something from me, just ask."  
  
Should have known. That sneaky bastard hadn't been asleep, just waiting for his reaction.  
  
"Well, for starters, I want you to take off these glasses. I can't see your eyes, you know how I feel about that."  
  
In a manner that said _oh he's fit enough to bicker, can't be that bad now_, Crowley did as he was asked.  
  
"Can't believe you really went and hugged that bastard AND offered him forgiveness."  
"Everybody deserves a second chance. Though he declined his."  
"If he ever happens to run into me, this will be his last mistake."  
  
Aziraphale sighed.  
  
"Let it go, my dear. It isn't worth it. Nothing happened after all."  
  
Crowley gasped for air dramatically.  
  
"Nothing happened???"  
"Uff, alright. Nothing happened in case of long-term effects. Nothing time and a good cup of tea won't restore."  
"But it could have. What would * _you_ have done if he had done this to me? Mister _fucking step aside_? Oh yes, don't look so innocent, I know what I've heard."  
  
The angel blushed and continued to blush when the demon started to imitate him.  
  
"_Are you that weary of life-_"  
"Stop it! How could you possibly have heard that anyway? You were nearly unconscious."  
"I could have been dead and I would have woken up for this."  
  
Aziraphale tried hard to restore an embarrassed appearance, but actually, he was pretty proud of himself.  
  
"You've been a hero. You rescued me. All of us, actually. Again. Thank you."  
  
"Oh, I still owe you one or two times. And I am fairly sure that me lying in this hospital bed, very much alive, also has something to do with you."  
  
Crowley chuckled.  
  
"Long story, angel. Plenty of time for that later."  
  
Smiling, he took the angel's hand and they fell into an agreeable silence. Comfortable, but with the knowing dread over their heads, that one of them had something serious to discuss on his mind.  
  
"Promise me something, angel."  
  
Aziraphale sighed. He feared it would be something he wasn't capable of.  
  
"If it's possible, I will."  
"No more solo flights. Neither of us. Ok?"  
  
Another sigh. He had known it would come to that.  
  
"You wouldn't have let me."  
"Yes. Because it was fucking dangerous."  
"Well, sometimes you have to take a risk."  
  
Crowley raised an eyebrow.  
  
"And that's coming from you. Are they giving you too many pain killers?"  
  
Aziraphale rolled his eyes.  
  
"You'd be surprised about my new risk-taking management. Had the best teacher after all."  
  
Now it was Crowley's turn to sigh. No argument he could hold against that.  
  
"Point taken. But... I'm serious. We have to be a team."  
  
He squeezed the angel's hand who squezzed it back right away.  
  
"I know, my love. We are a team. We are more than a team. We are on our own side."  
  
They smiled again and it seemed like Crowley could live with that outcome. For now.  
  
"Did you tell Anathema, that I'm fine? Wouldn't want her to worry."  
  
The look on the demon's face spoke volumes. He had completely forgotten about the witch. 30 missed calls and 15 text messages told a story of their own.  
  
"Guess that was the last time she drove us anywhere."

A few days later, Aziraphale was released. Since he hadn't been getting much fresh air, they decided to take a stroll back to the bookshop. He needed Crowley's support though. Still not top of his game. But very much alive. Enjoying linked hands with his demon, feeling light late-autumn sun on his skin, Aziraphale sighed.  
  
"I was surprised that you'd prefer walking to your - "  
  
Abruptly he stopped dead, forcing Crowley to come to a halt too.  
  
"Oh, the Bentley! Is it still-"  
"Chill, angel. It's ok."  
"Is it still in Southwark?"  
"Yes, but it knows how to protect itself."  
"Why didn't you-"  
"I had more important things to tend to."  
  
A simple sentence, eight words. Some verbs, an adjective. No demands of literary excellence or burst of creativity. But it meant the world to an angel, who knew perfectly well how vast the world really was.  
  
Gently nudging one another, they strolled further. The bookshop was only a corner away when someone turned said corner. Crowley tensed immediately. Bright brown or rather dark blonde curls floating slightly in the wind, ochre eyes glancing at them and a cream-coloured suit covering the features of a tall, handsome archangel.  
  
Jeremiel, of course. Without hesitating - perhaps well aware of how this might end - he started to speak.  
  
"I heard what has happened and I'm very sorry that they used my appearance to-"  
"Stop it!"  
  
With a small explosion, a car near them started to ablaze. Two startled pairs of eyes stared at it, while Crowley's gaze stuck to the floor.  
  
_Do you really have no self-control left?_  
  
He wanted to disappear right away. Not only had they used his sentimentality against him, but it all had also turned into quite the embarrassing affair, surely known in no time in both Heaven and Hell. Overwhelmed, the demon pulled back, but his angel squezzed his arm reassuringly.  
  
"Maybe you'll come back some years later. I think we're not ready yet."  
  
_We._  
  
It was still embarrassing, but... why should he care what the others thought about him? They already knew that this not-so-very-evil-demon was ridiculously in love with a renegade angel - what was the point in pretending anymore?  
  
Jeremiel nodded in understanding and withdraw.  
  
The celestial pair went back to the shop, but the demon was still in distress. Aziraphale felt it. He had been strong for him, nothing else on his mind than his well-being. But the hurt of the past days wouldn't leave him untouched. Gently, Aziraphale took his lover's hand.  
  
"What about we take a second run on our road trip? Belgium, waffles, chocolate? Would be nice to get away for a bit, just us two."  
  
Crowley smiled. The one smile he had scolded himself afterwards, for many, many years, because it was fully drunk with love.  
  
"Sounds heavenly. And I mean that in the good way."  
  
Belgium, brace yourself. A demon, who - at heart - was rather more than just a bit of a good person and an angel, who - deep down - was actually way more of a bastard to be worth knowing, are on their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally... that's it.  
My third story is finished and I was soooo convinced, I'd be able to stop now... but I've already half-written two short stories, so I guess I can't stop... but after THAT it's really finished!
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope everything makes sense, since it's not my mother tongue. :)
> 
> See ya! :)


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